


rockets and waterfalls

by lscar123



Series: so crazy in love/all eyes on me [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anxiety, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Flower Sending, Bitty is a host on a TV show that is totally NOT The View, Fluff, Jack is already so gone, M/M, POV Alternating, i'll update warnings and stuff as the story goes along, public outing, shamelessly inspired by Beyonce songs, some angst because I can't write anything without angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2018-11-09 08:19:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11100621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lscar123/pseuds/lscar123
Summary: Two weeks after being publicly outed against his will, Jack happens to catch a daytime talk show and is stunned to find one of the hosts defending him. The next day, Eric receives a bouquet of flowers and nothing is ever the same again.





	1. Seems like everywhere I go I see you

**Author's Note:**

> hi! this is my first check please! fic so it may take me a few chapters to get characterization down but i've had this idea in my head for over a month and i couldn't stop thinking about it and one Beyonce listening marathon later here we are! this should be a fairly light and fluffy tale but any warnings that are needed will be posted at the top of any chapters that require them.

 

 

One

Seems like everywhere I go I see you

 

Today was not a good day. If Jack was being honest, it wasn’t a good week. If Jack was being _really_ honest, things hadn’t been good for a while. But, being the bad day it was, Jack wasn’t in the mood for total honesty. Instead, he settled on replaying the events of last night in his head and, in a rare moment, his thoughts were not focused on the loss of the game.

Instead, Jack focused on what happened after the game. Namely, the moment a reporter from TMZ somehow found his way to the locker room. With his camera crew. Jack still had idea how the man even made it down there but none of that really mattered anymore. The damage was done. The damage to Jack’s pride, his ego, and the camera.

Jack had been on a publicist imposed full on media blackout for the last two weeks. It was unsettling for Jack to think that two weeks and one day earlier he was going about his life as he normally had. Eat (healthy). Sleep (at least eight hours). Hockey (until he couldn’t stand). Everything changed after that one day.

Two weeks ago, Jack had woken up to fifteen missed calls from his publicist. One missed call from his publicist always set him on edge, the edge didn’t even exist after _fifteen_ missed calls. Every voice mail said he same thing: _Jack, call me when you get this. Call me before you do literally anything else. Do not turn on your computer, do not check your texts, do not watch TV. Call me._ Naturally, Jack did all the above before calling Carol back.

Jack could still see the words in bold black print against the white background. **_Kent Parson Outed By Ex-Lover. Jack Zimmerman Along For The Ride._** Jack would remember those words for the rest of his life. He would remember the way his chest constricted while his heart felt like it was going to hammer out of his chest. He would remember the way it felt as if he was just punched in the stomach after being checked against the boards repeatedly.

Even thinking about it now was threatening to make Jack lose his already shaky grip on his coffee mug so Jack sighed at sat the mug back down on the counter to avoid having to clean up yet another mess this morning. Jack ran a hand through his hair as he stuck his head in the fridge to try and find something to make for breakfast. He settled on egg whites and spinach and sat the containers on the counter while he pulled out the frying pan maman had gotten him last time she was in town.

Jack was desperate for any kind of sound in his apartment other than the sound of his own thoughts so he abandoned the pan on the stove as it heated up and made his way to the living room, reached over the back of the couch and turned on the TV without looking as he tossed the remote back down. The screen blinked to life and Jack ignored it for a moment, turning his back on the screen and heading back towards the kitchen.

Once the sound registered in Jack’s brain he stopped in his tracks.

“Zimmerman!” The voice Jack would recognize anywhere after last night yelled, “Zimmerman! Any comment on that story about Parse and his ex? You’ve been MIA for two weeks and everyone is dying to know if you two- “

“No comment.” Jack’s rough voice came from the TV.

“Seriously?” The man mocked, “That’s all you have to say?”

Jack didn’t have to turn around to see what happened next. He could clearly remember trying to step around the obnoxious asshole and his camera man but the hallway was narrow and the two men took up the entire area in front of him. There was no way around them other than through them.

“This is a hockey game,” Jack snapped, “and you shouldn’t even be down here. Now if you would please move, I need to go shower.”

“Hockey, huh?” The man scoffed, “Fine, care to talk about how you and your entire team just got your *bleep* handed to you? Does your performance have anything to do with the recent allegations from Parson’s ex?”

Jack balled his hand into fists at his side as he waited for what came next.

“God dammit,” Jack heard himself mumble on screen, “get out of my damn way.”

The muffled shouts came next as Jack shouldered his way through the two men with more force than he knew was necessary. Jack hated himself for what happened, for how he let his control snap like that. In the moment, the only thing that mattered was making it to the haven of the locker room and Jack didn’t care that he essentially body checked a camera man into a wall and caused him to lose his grip on his camera. Jack could still see the camera on the floor, cracked into various pieces.

The video itself ended after that, thankfully. What it didn’t capture, and what Jack remembered, was the yelling that happened afterwards that drew the entire team out of the locker room. The reporter and the camera man started screaming, threatening to sue him for assault and property damage. Neither of those things would happen, the GM made sure of that by threatening both men with arrests for trespassing in the private area of the arena. But threats weren’t enough to keep them from posting the video to their website and Jack knew from the moment he went to sleep last night that he would wake up to another media frenzy.

When Jack finally found the will to move he turned on his heel and made his way back to the living room, throwing his arm over the couch again to reach for the remote. Once he had the remote in his hand he straightened out and pointed it at the TV to turn it off. Instead of hitting the power button though, he froze.

Jack realized that the TV was still on the same channel he was watching the previous morning and it was the usual time for the one show he somehow actually enjoyed. He could never remember the name of it off the top of his head but it always helped that the hosts were sitting around a table that had the name of the show clearly displayed across the front of it.

The Table.

Jack decided when he discovered the show one morning after his run that, while the name was a little apropos, it wasn’t the worst thing to have on in the background if he was just looking for mind numbing filler. It also didn’t hurt that the person who was always sitting in the middle of the titular table was far different than the rest of the female co-hosts. Namely, because he was a he.

He was also devastatingly attractive and 100% of the reason that Jack even gave the TV more than a cursory glance that first morning.

Today was different though. Today, the guy in the middle, Eric, was not smiling like he usually was. Eric looked angry. That fact, coupled with the fact that what proceeded Eric’s look of anger was a video of Jack basically assaulting a paparazzi, made Jack’s chest tighten all over again.

Eric didn’t know Jack. Jack didn’t know Eric. They would never meet. But still, for some reason, the fact that Eric could make that kind of face because of something Jack did…it made Jack anxious in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Well,” The co-host with the dark hair whose name Jack could never remember said, “that was…certainly something.”

The studio audience began to murmur with questions and comments.

Jack stared at the screen with wide eyes, half in horror and half in some kind of masochistic self-imposed punishment.

“I just…” Eric trailed off, then opened his mouth and closed it a few times before speaking again, “I just don’t see why we’re even giving this any time.”

Jack blinked at the screen. Eric’s voice seemed different today, higher pitched, and his accent was even more pronounced. It must be what he sounds like when he’s angry.

“Because that’s what we do, _Eric_ ,” the tall, blonde woman who Jack thought always had an attitude snipped, “we talk about things that happen in the world, in the news. Jack Zimmerman is a public figure and he’s going around shoving camera men because he’s in a bad mood. That seems like something to talk about.”

“ _Abby_ ,” the shorter girl to Eric’s right said, Larissa, Jack remembered her name too, said in the same tone that Erin had addressed Abby in, “I would have shoved that jerk too. They were where they weren’t supposed to be, they were invasive, and they were rude.”

“That doesn’t justify assault!” Abby shook her head.

“I hardly think that qualifies as an assault,” the oldest woman with the dark hair at the table said, Jack still couldn’t remember her name, “a lot of things happening in the world today qualify as assault but pushing your way past a camera man, who is on private property, is hardly assault.”

“Whatever you say, Aisha.” Abby rolled her eyes.

Jack wanted to turn the TV off. All the hosts were arguing and it was about him and it was reaching a point that was close to passing masochistic and venturing into just plain self-destructive. Jack shook his head and grabbed for the remote, pointing it at the TV, and then…

“You’re awfully quiet, Bitty.” Larissa said.

Jack couldn’t even smile at Eric’s nickname as he normally did, he was too anxious. He knew he should turn the TV off…but he couldn’t make himself do anything until he heard what Eric had to say.

Eric took a deep breath, “I’m quiet because I think this whole thing shouldn’t even be getting any kind of attention. It’s disgusting what those reporters did, it’s disgusting what happened two weeks ago to Jack Zimmerman and Kent Parson, and it’s disgusting how the media has handled the entire situation.”

Jack’s mouth didn’t quite drop to the floor but it was a close thing. Even closer when the entire audience started to applaud Eric.

Eric smiled and huffed out a small laugh, “Now y’all, don’t go applaudin’ me for being a decent human.”

The audience laughed and so did Jack.

“It just…it makes me sad,” Eric’s eyes turned down towards the table, “it makes me sad for Kent, to have something so private taken away from him in such a public manner. He showed a lot of strength when he confirmed all the details, aside from the stuff about Jack Zimmerman, and people still won’t leave him alone.”

“That’s another thing,” Abby began again, and Jack could see all of the other hosts visibly groan, “Jack Zimmerman hasn’t confirmed or denied anything that was said. Kent Parson didn’t mention Jack at all in his press conference. Don’t you think that if Zimmerman just, for lack of a better term, came out with it that all of this would end?”

“Jack Zimmerman,” Eric said, his voice sounding forceful enough to make Jack shrink backwards, “doesn’t have to do anything. It doesn’t matter if it’s true or not true, it was a gross invasion of privacy either way and Jack Zimmerman doesn’t have to do anything but play hockey. And I’m not going to sit here and speculate over what is or isn’t true. If that’s something that you want to do then just let me know and I’ll go ahead and get up right now and hang out in my dressing room until you’re done.”

Jack tried to ignore the way his stomach flipped each time Eric said his full name, but it was a mostly useless effort. At some point during Eric’s small speech Jack had climbed over the back of the sofa and sat down on it, resting his forearms on his knees and looking up at the screen in a sort of wonder.

“We didn’t talk about anything when the outing happened and I just don’t even think we should be talking about it now.” Eric huffed and crossed his arms over his chest, “Kent Parson deserves more respect. Jack Zimmerman deserves more respect. Everyone in general just deserves more respect.”

Abby was like a dog with a bone and for whatever reason she just wouldn’t drop the topic. Jack finally decided that he, in fact, did not like her at all, “I don’t know, Eric. I think you might be letting your personal history with publicity and TMZ cloud your judgment with this one.”

The entire audience audibly gasped and when the camera panned across the faces of the hosts they all had a look of shock on their faces. Jack felt an odd sort of tension settle into his shoulders and it took him a moment to realize that he wasn’t feeling that tension for himself, but because of Eric.

Eric opened his mouth to speak but he was quickly cut off by Larissa, “Speaking of things that shouldn’t be talked about so casually and that deserve more respect, that was so uncalled-for Abby.”

Abby’s cheeks flushed.

Aisha shook her head and folded her hands on the table, “We’re all on this show because of our personal beliefs and opinions. That was a low blow.”

Abby sighed, “I’m sorry.”

Eric shook his head and schooled his face back into a smile. Jack could tell he was faking it from his own personal experience with that kind of look.

“It’s fine,” Eric laughed, “it’s no secret that there’s no love lost between me and them. Heck, I’ll probably get into a fight with their twitter account after the show.”

The audience laughed awkwardly but it was hard to deny the heavy atmosphere that had settled over the group.

“Anyway!” Eric smiled again and clapped his hands together before threading his fingers together, “We’ve got to take a quick break but when we come back I’m going to show y’all at home how to make the most perfect and delicious butter cookies you’ve ever had in your entire life!”

The screen faded to a commercial and Jack quickly took the opportunity to turn the TV off. Part of him wished he’d waited ten minutes to turn the TV on and then he would have caught Eric’s daily baking tutorial rather than…whatever he had just seen.

On the other hand, it was the first time that Jack could remember someone ever defending him that soundly. Sure, he parents and his team had defended him before, but this was something different. Eric was different, he was someone with no connection to Jack whatsoever. Eric had no reason defend him…but he still did. And what Eric did had opened him up to some strange kind of personal attack by one of his co-host’s. That didn’t seem like a fair trade off in Jack’s eyes. Jack had no idea what kind of history Eric could have with the same website that had harassed him for the last two weeks but everyone else clearly did.

Jack wouldn’t goggle to figure it out either.

Instead, Jack turned his attention back to the kitchen and his now too hot frying pan.

 

-

 

After a few hours had passed and Jack was sure that his publicist would be awake, he pulled out his phone and called her. Jack gave himself until she picked up to back out.

“Jack?” Carol asked, still sounding half asleep, “Is everything OK? You didn’t get a visit from TMZ again?”

“No,” Jack said and actually managed a small laugh, “I have an…uh…odd question.”

“OK?” Carol sounded skeptical.

“Um, let’s see…” Jack trailed off, “is…um…is finding out how to send flowers to someone hard?”

“Someone like?” Carol asked, her voice sounding a bit more alert now.

“A TV host,” Jack said, “I saw this host on TV this morning. He was defending me and, um, I just wanted to do something nice. To thank him. Because what he said was nice. And I, uh, I want to be nice back.”

Carol laughed softly, “Yeah, I think I can manage that. This is a new one for you, Zimms.”

“Yeah,” Jack agreed, awkwardly running a hand through his hair, “I don’t know much about flowers but um…I want them to be…”

“Nice?” Carol laughed.

“Yeah,” Jack breathed.

“Nice flowers, check.” Carol said, “Who’s the host? What show? It should be pretty easy to arrange something to go to the studio.”

“Eric,” Jack said quickly, “Eric Bittle. It’s some show about a…table.”

“ _The_ Table?” Carol asked.

“Yeah, that one.”

“Ah,” Carol said, “my sister loves them. She watches every morning.”

“Right, good, you know it.” Jack said.

“What do you want the card to say?” Carol asked.

“Flowers have to say something?” Jack wrinkled his brow. Flowers were turning out to be a lot more than he thought that would be.

“I mean, they don’t have to but I think the card should at least say why you’re sending him flowers so he doesn’t wonder why there’s a random bouquet from Jack Zimmerman.” Carol laughed.

“Oh, true,” Jack agreed, that would be weird, “Just say…thank you for sticking up for me.”

“Thank you for sticking up for me,” Carol repeated, “got it.”

Wait!” Jack said before she hung up, “Can you add something else.”

“Of course, what else.”

Jack took a breath, “It meant a lot.”

“Thank you for sticking up for me. It meant a lot.” Carol confirmed, “Anything else?”

“No,” Jack shook his head, more for his own benefit than Carol’s.

“Alright, I’ll call up a shop when they open and find the studios contact information. Any price ranges?”

“I don’t care,” Jack shrugged, “whatever the nicest option they have is.”

Carol hummed in agreement and before hanging up she told him that she would call back to let him know the price after she set up the delivery.

Jack didn’t care about the cost. He just wanted to do something nice.

 

 

 


	2. I’m great at writin’ physical love letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first of all, holy shit thank you so much for all the love and feed back. i was so nervous when i posted the first chapter but the response has been so amazing so thank you so much!!!
> 
> second of all, here's more bitty!

 

 

 

 

Two

I’m great at writin’ physical love letters

 

Bitty smiled at the camera until the red light above it reading ‘live’ blinked off. The light dimmed and Bitty blew a puff of air upwards towards his bangs to rustle them off of his forehead and dislodge any of the flour his current co-star might have gotten on him. Bitty dusted his hands off and wiped them on the towel near his station before turning to the girl, a soap opera star that he had no earthly recognition of, and smiled.

“Ya know, if you ever decide to give up acting I think you have a great career ahead of you as a baker.”

The girl laughed and Bitty smiled even more. He had no idea who she was but he’d be dammed if she wasn’t one of the nicest “celebrities” who’d ever appeared on the morning show.

“I used to spend Sunday mornings baking with my grandma before church, it was like being right back at home!” The girl smiled and took another bite of the butter cookies they made. Or, rather, the butter cookies that Bitty had made around 2am to reveal as the finished product after the demo.

“I’ll have a nice little bag of these put together for you and sent to your dressing room before you leave,” Eric smiled, “Heck, I’ll even give you the recipe.”

The girl’s eyes went wide, “Oh my god, you wouldn’t!”

Bitty laughed and nodded.

“Eric,” She laughed and threw her hands on Bitty’s shoulder, “wardrobe is going to hate you but I love you. So much.”

Bitty smiled, more of his fake smile this time, as she lightly shook his entire body. He held his breath until she let go and then smoothed down his shirt as she walked away. He took a moment to recollect himself before nodding and walking off the other side of his set towards his dressing room. He only flinched a little bit, it was progress.

Lardo was waiting for him outside of his dressing room, standing against the wall with her leg propped under her like a terribly cliché cowboy, “I’m going to kill Abby.”

Bitty laughed, “Wouldn’t that be a scandal?”

“I’m serious,” Lardo shook her head, “listen, I know we need the skinny, blonde, white woman for the group to balance out all this ethnicity and queerness we’re rocking, but surely we can find someone less _evil_ than her to draw in the more…conservative viewers.”

Bitty rolled his eyes, “I don’t know if I’d call her evil…maybe…morally challenged?”

Lardo opened her mouth to respond but was stopped by the knocking at Bitty’s door.

“Come in!” Bitty said, trying to sound as cheerful as possible.

The door pushed open and Bitty and Lardo both let out a relieved sigh as Aisha made her way into the room. She’d changed into a more relaxing track suit and her dreads were tied in a bun on her head. Aisha crossed the room and dropped into the open space on the couch next to Lardo. Not for the first time, but Bitty had to wonder how his dressing room always ended up as the official meeting spot for their trio.

“What’re we talking about?” Aisha asked with a smirk.

“What do you think?” Bitty sighed as he ran another hand through his hair.

“I’m planning ways to get Abby fired,” Lardo smiled at Aisha’s exasperated look, “Bitty, on the other hand, is trying to convince me that she’s not evil, she’s just _misunderstood_.”

Bitty laughed, “I didn’t say that! I think she understands exactly what she’s doing, I just think she wants to make a splash so she doesn’t wash out like the last girl they tried on the panel.”

“She made a splash alright,” Aisha grinned as she handed her phone to Bitty, “we just went off their air and there’s already half a dozen articles about your little spat.”

“Great, just what I need.” Bitty groaned.

It wasn’t that he didn’t know there was a potential for his words to blow up into a frenzy online. It was part of the reason he went so…hard on the topic of what happened to Jack Zimmerman and Kent Parson. Bitty had wanted to put himself firmly in their corner, he wanted to come out swinging and defend these two men he didn’t even know in a way that no one else seemed to be defending them. But now his effort was going to be eclipsed by yet another daytime TV catfight. It was the exact opposite of what Bitty had hoped to achieve.

“Oh,” Lardo hummed, “this is a good one!”

“What?” Aisha and Bitty asked in unison.

Lardo cleared her throat and began to read, “The Last Supper: Did The Table’s Abby Jackson Just Dine And Dash From The Show?”

Bitty let out a startled laugh, “My lord, that is some terrible word play.”

“Everything I’m reading seemed to be swinging in your favor,” Lardo smiled, “which is no surprise because people love you.”

Bitty groaned, “This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen! I wanted to take a few minutes to defend two guys who’ve been dragged through the mud for the last two weeks and then this all happens!”

Aisha smiled softly before standing and resting a gentle hand on Bitty’s shoulder, “Don’t worry, Bits. You know how this all goes, something else will happen today and it will all be old news. We’ll come in tomorrow and start all over with each other and everyone will forget it even happened.”

“I know,” Bitty sighed, “I just wanted to do some good for once.”

 Bitty looked at himself in the mirror and his frown deepened.

“I’ll talk to Shitty on my way out, see if we can work another story about Jack Zimmerman into the show tomorrow and give you another chance to say something on the topic?” Lardo asked.

“No,” Bitty shook his head, “I said what I had to say and I don’t want our show to devote anymore time to giving that garbage anymore attention.”

“We could try reaching out to Zimmerman or Parson? Offer to give them a space where they can say whatever they want with no judgment?” Aisha offered.

Bitty chewed on his lip, “I don’t think either of them would be up for it and it still feels like exploitation Let’s just see what else happens this week, maybe everything will blow over for them.”

Aisha and Lardo pulled Bitty in for a group hug. Bitty smiled as they broke and kissed each of them on the forehead. Just as everyone was about to head out Bitty’s door opened slowly.

“Hi,” Abby said softly, “I was hoping we could talk, Eric?”

Bitty closed his eyes and took a deep breath to collect himself. After a moment, he opened his eyes and smiled, “Sure.”

Lardo bristled at the idea and Aisha frowned but Bitty waved them away, “I’ll talk to y’all when I get home later this afternoon.”

The women begrudgingly nodded before stepping around Abby and closing the door behind themselves. Bitty’s phone buzzed a few seconds later with a text from Lardo.

 

**Lardo: lmk if you need help hiding the body**

**Bitty: If I killed someone I certainly wouldn’t text you about it, Miss Duan. Evidence.**

**Lardo: :), offer stands.**

 

Bitty shook his head and shoved his phone back into his pocket. He turned on his chair and his eyes tracked Abby who was nervously pacing the floor of his dressing room.

Abby startled when she noticed Bitty’s eyes on her, “Listen, I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I crossed a line and I shouldn’t have brought up personal stuff like that.”

Bitty waited a moment to reply, if only to make Abby sweat a little more, “No, you shouldn’t have.”

Abby frowned, “I’m just getting used to all of this TV stuff, you know? I sometimes forget that we’re not all just sitting around talking by ourselves but that people are watching.”

Bitty raised a single eyebrow, “Does that mean you wouldn’t feel bad about what you said if it wasn’t caught on camera?”

Abby’s back straightened and she tensed visibly, “No, that’s not what I meant at all! It’s just…I’m just saying it’s an adjustment and I’m trying to learn!”

Bitty sighed, his mood suddenly dropped and all he wanted was to be out of the room and away from the conversation, “Well, in the interest of learning, Abby, I’m going to tell you something that my MooMaw once told me: don’t let your bulldog mouth overload your hummingbird butt.”

Abby opened her mouth, then closed it, and opened it one more time before taking a step back and crossing her arms across her chest. Bitty laughed silently and stood from his chair, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. Abby watched him with curious eyes and he gave her one final smile before opening the door.

“See you tomorrow, Abby, have a great day!”

Bitty shut the door behind him as he stepped into the hallway, content to leave Abby alone in his dressing room to ponder the wise words of his MooMaw.

After all, MooMaw also always said that there was no weapon as deadly as a good ol’ fashioned passive aggressive southern saying.  

 

-

 

Bitty made it out of the building and halfway to his car before he was stopped by the panting voice of his favorite television producer.

“Bitty! For fuck’s sake, I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Shitty panted in between breaths.

“I was in my dressing room and now I’m here,” Bitty laughed, “what’s so urgent that you needed to run through the entire building to find me for?”

“Brah,” Shitty said before taking a gulp of water from Bitty’s offered water bottle, “just seeing if you’re OK after that showdown.”

Bitty contained his sigh and gave Shitty his best smile. He was exhausted by the topic but he couldn’t help but feel a bit of warmth as he looked Shitty, panting and covered in sweat from his sprint, “I’m fine. I talked to Abby, we’re fine and the show will be fine tomorrow.”

“So, you’re fine?” Shitty ribbed him, “You sure? I can talk to the network if you want?”

Bitty planted his hands on his hips and leveled Shitty with a glare, “Shitty Knight, did a certain co-host of mine put you up to this conversation?”

Shitty gasped and held his hands up in defense, “Never! I mean, she may have cornered me and told me that she has cleared her schedule for the rest of the day in order to hide a body but you never know with her.”

Bitty laughed, “I appreciate everyone’s concern and I’m glad I have friends like y’all but I can take care of myself. I don’t want her _fired_ over it!”

“Well, the offer still stands!” Shitty smiled as he pulled Bitty into a terribly wet and sticky hug, “Now, if you’ll excuse me I need to go back upstairs, still got a lot of work to do planning for tomorrow show."

Bitty smiled and waved Shitty off as he made his way back to his car with the need to get home and shower as quickly as possible.

 

-

 

Bitty didn’t normally take naps after getting home from the studio but the combination of his earlier than usual starting time and the stress of the morning left him with just enough energy to drag himself to his apartment, shower, and fall into bed.

When Bitty woke a few hours later he found himself with an impressive amount of energy. He woke with a spring in his step and immediately changed into his running clothes to get his workout in for the day. He followed his usual route, a four-mile round trip path that took him from his apartment, through downtown Boston, and back home again. He spent the run with his brain alternating between singing along to the words of Beyoncé and brainstorming titles for his new cook book.

By the time his run was done, Bitty had become one with Sasha Fierce but found himself no closer to coming up with a title for his book and his publisher was on the verge of killing him. Bitty shook away the through of the encroaching deadline from his head and made his way back into his apartment building.

“Hi, Fred!” Bitty smiled at his doorman.

“Bitty!” Fred smiled, “I can’t even begin to tell you how good that pie you left for me this morning was!”

Bitty laughed as he propped a foot up against the closest wall and stretched out his muscles, “Any requests for tomorrow?”

Fred waved his hands in front of his body, “Don’t worry yourself with me, Bitty, I know you’re busy!”

“It’s no problem, Fred,” Bitty laughed, “I gotta take care of my favorite door man!”

“Well,” Fred shrugged awkwardly, “I guess if it isn’t too much trouble…I wouldn’t mind those blueberry tarts again.”

Bitty mentally added the tarts to his to-do list and nodded, “Fresh blueberry tarts will be on your desk in the morning!”

“You’re too good to me, Bitty.” Fred smiled.

“It’s the least I can do, Fred!” Bitty winked in the place of a hug, seeing as he was a sweaty mess and he wasn’t Shitty.

Fred wished him a good rest of the day as Bitty made his way towards the elevator and Bitty made another mental note to make Fred a double batch of the blueberry tarts. Bitty always loved baking things for Fred, he’d been the doorman Bitty interacted with most in his last few years of living in Boston and Fred was instrumental in helping Bitty escape from more than one embarrassing situation.

 

-

 

The following morning was much calmer for Bitty. With no cooking demo scheduled for the show that day he was able to sleep in and wake up with just enough time to bake Fred two fresh batches of blueberry tarts, which he deposited on Fred’s empty desk in his rush to get out of the building and to his car.

Bitty ignored his usual trip to his dressing room in lieu of talking to some of the crew over coffee. He stopped by their break room and left a fresh blueberry pie for them, made with the leftovers from Fred’s blueberry tarts. Bitty always made it a priority to take care of the people who were behind the show. He may be out in front of the camera every day but he had no illusions of the fact that the people behind it were the ones who did all the work.

Bitty sat through the morning meeting and nodded, half paying attention, as Shitty recapped their ratings for the previous day and went over their topics for today’s show. The ratings for the previous day were decent, down a half a point from the same day last week, but everyone expected an uptick in viewers who were anxious to see if there would be a sequel to yesterday’s little blow up.

Bitty was more than a little excited for that day’s guest though, he couldn’t wait to spend the hour telling Carly Rae Jepsen that _Emotion_ was one of the best albums he’d ever listened to and a regular staple in his running playlist, alongside Beyoncé.

Bitty made note of how Abby seemed to keep herself separate from himself, Lardo, and Aisha but no one said anything out loud. He hoped the ice would thaw by the time they went on air because the only thing worse than co-hosts fighting on air is co-hosts being angry on air while trying to pretend they aren’t. It’s awkward, uncomfortable, and no one wants to watch it.

“Lardo,” Bitty said, “meet me in my dressing room in a few minutes when you get a chance.”

“Sure thing,” Lardo said without turning her head away from her conversation with Shitty and Aisha.

Bitty left her to her conversation and made his way down the long hallways of the studio and to his dressing room. He raised a curious eyebrow at the fact that the door to his room was ajar and briefly contemplated calling security until his phone buzzed in his pocket. Bitty fished it out and found a text from his assistant.

 

**Chowder: Oh, I forgot to tell you but someone called yesterday asking where they could deliver something to you. I didn’t want to give a weirdo your address in case it was like a bomb or something so I told them to send it to the studio.**

 

Bitty stifled a laugh before he typed out his reply.

**Bitty: So, you figured it was safer to send a bomb to the studio?**

**Chowder: You have a point. Well, if it’s a bomb it should be in your dressing room right now if you want to let someone know.**

 

Bitty sighed and shoved his phone back in his pocket. He was relatively sure that a bomb wouldn't make it all the way onto the lot, into the studio, and to his dressing room so he pushed his door open the rest of the way.

When Bitty saw what was sitting on the table in the middle of his dressing room he froze.

It was most certainly not a bomb. It was, however, what had to have been five dozen roses in a vase that was easily half the size of Bitty himself.

Bitty gaped at the collection of orange roses and cautiously walked towards the flowers as if they held some chance of coming to life and stacking him. Bitty swallowed as he got closer to the flowers and realized that they weren’t orange roses. Well, they were orange roses, but they were also pink roses.

Someone has sent Bitty 60 orange and pink hybrid roses.

“Hey, what did you want to talk abo-oh my god what the fuck is that?”

Bitty glanced from the flowers to the mirror on the far side of the wall and saw Lardo’s shocked expression reflecting back at him. Bitty checked his own reflection and found close to the same look on his face.

“I don’t know…” Bitty trailed off, “Chowder said someone asked him where they could deliver something for me and then I found these.”

“Christ, Bits,” Lardo let out a low whistle, “is there something you want to tell me?”

Bitty blushed and jumped as he turned around, “Larissa Duan, I do not know what you’re talking about!”

“So, you’re telling me someone spent like…a metric shit ton of money on sending you these flowers and you have no idea who could have done such a thing?” Lardo laughed.

Bitty shook his head, “I went out on a date with a guy a few nights ago…but I’m pretty sure he’s ghosting me and you don’t think these flowers cost a lot, do you?”

“Bitty,” Lardo laughed again, “have you ever actually sent flowers to someone? Good flowers and not like a grocery store bouquet?”

Bitty shook his head, he didn’t have much experience with romance in general, let alone sending someone flowers.

“This vase alone has to be like…” Lardo trailed off as she examined it closer.

“What?” Bitty asked frantically, “Why did you stop talking?”

“Bitty…this is a crystal vase from Tiffany…” Lardo turned back to Bitty with her eyes wider than he’d ever seen them before.

“Is there a card?” Bitty asked, taking a step back to distance himself from the flowers that he now knew were insanely expensive.

Lardo nodded and plucked it off of its holder and handed it to Bitty. Bitty held out an unsteady hand and gently lifted it from her fingers. He looked it over and cocked his head to the side when he read the name of the florist.

Heritage Flowers, Providence, RI.

Who on earth would be sending Bitty flowers from Providence? An hour away?

Bitty took a deep breath and flipped the card over in his hands, running a finger underneath the seal to break it. He closed his eyes as he opened the note and waited for a few seconds to open them, somehow convinced that this was all some kind of fever dream.

When Bitty opened his eyes and read the card, he came _thisclose_ to passing out.

“Holy shit,” Bitty breathed and handed the card to Lardo, “please tell me I’m not crazy and that you can read these words too.”

Lardo’s jaw dropped to the ground after she read it over and the card soon followed.

“Bitty, Jack Zimmerman sent you these flowers.”

Bitty swallowed the lump in his throat. OK. He wasn’t crazy. This was happening.

Bitty looked down at the card on the ground and read it one more time.

 

**_Eric, thank you for sticking up for me. It meant a lot._ **

**_Sincerely, Jack Zimmerman._ **

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> orange roses symbolize happiness and thankfulness and pink roses symbolize the beginning stages of romance and the potential for a growing connection. the cheapest crystal vase on the tiffany website is like $200.
> 
> did jacks pr woman know what she was doing? obviously. carol is a real one, y'all.


	3. I look and stare so deep in your eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise! another chapter! and the first chapter than alternates between jack and bitty!

 

 

 

 

Three

I look and stare so deep in your eyes

 

Jack would be lying if he said he wasn’t wondering if he went overboard with the flowers. Carol had called him back that evening and told him about the various deal the shop was offering and he latched onto the five dozen rose special early on and barely stopped to think about how much five dozen roses were, quantity wise and not price wise.

Still, what’s done was done and Jack had agreed to five dozen orange and pink hybrid roses to be sent to wherever it was that Bittle filmed his show.

Jack spent the next few hours stressing. Was it too much? Was it too random? Was it too weird? Would Bittle think it was some elaborate joke and talk about it on his show and use it as some kind of chance to knock Jack down a peg?

No, that was stupid. The entire reason Jack was sending Bittle flowers was because Bittle had stuck up for him and not torn him down. Still, would Bittle mention it on his show? Would the entire world know that Jack sent him flowers?

Jack’s palms began to sweat and he paced his apartment as he tried to wind down for bed. Jack contemplated calling Carol back and telling her to call the whole thing off. A kind of deep rooted fear overtook him, a fear he hadn’t felt in years. A fear he never thought he’d feel again.

The last time he felt this kind of fear was the first time he wanted to tell Kent that he was interested in him. Jack had worked himself up into such a panic that he almost blacked out from an anxiety attack. And in the end, Kent was the one who made the first move by kissing him in the middle of their hotel room in an effort to get Jack to calm down.

So, yeah, Jack had felt this kind of fear before. But why was he feeling it in relation to someone he had never met, someone who he would probably never meet. Bittle’s show probably filmed in LA with all the other morning shows. If that was the case, it made Bittle geographically closer to Kent. That thought made something brand new spike through Jack.

Jealousy?

What the hell?

Jack took of his baseball cap and pressed his forehead against the large sliding glass door that led out to his balcony. The cool press of glass on his skin did a little to calm him down but it still wasn’t enough to pull him out of whatever rabbit hole he was spiraling down.

Jack pulled his head away from the glass and walked to his kitchen and opened his freezer. Jack stared into the void for a moment, purposely not looking at his sad collection of pre-made and frozen meals in the various Tupperware containers, and stuck his hand into the ice box and pulled out two ice cubes. Jack closed the freezer with his free hand and walked to the sink as he slipped one of the two ice cubes into his free palm.

Jack held his hands over the sink as he balled his hands into fists and squeezed the ice cubes as hard as he could. The chill of the ice bit into his skin and shocked him back into a more present reality. He stood there and let the ice melt under the warmth of his hands and didn’t move until the water from the melted ice had made its way through the seams of his fist and into the sink.

Jack took a deep breath as he unclenched his fists. Jack waited a second before pressing his palms together and rubbing them back and forth to warm himself up. The entire exercise took a few minutes and left him feeling more centered than he had before his little spiral. He was grateful that his therapist had taught him this small technique years ago as a way to stop himself before he descended into a full-on anxiety attack.

Jack turned off all the lights in his apartment as he made his way to the bedroom and tucked himself into bed. The last thing Jack thought of before he went to sleep is the smile that Eric would hopefully have on his face when he saw Jack’s flowers in the morning.

 

-

 

Bitty gave Carly Rae Jepsen one final hug before turning away and making his way back to his dressing room. Lardo was once again posted outside of it like a sentry who was guarding the secret of the flowers.

Bitty was more than a little thankful that they’d gotten through todays show with no conflict because he didn’t think he could take the stress of another mini media meltdown coupled with the shock of flowers from Jack Zimmerman.

Bitty entered his dressing room before Lardo and gasped, “They’re still here. I still thought it all might be some kind of dream.”

Lardo dropped into her usual space on the couch and examined the card again, “Sincerely. I can’t tell if that’s more intimate than saying something like ‘your friend’?”

Bitty felt his cheeks grow warmer, “He wasn’t being _intimate_ , Lardo.”

“I dunno,” Lardo shrugged, “hot pocket-sized baker defends maybe gay and or bisexual gigantic beautiful hockey god on live TV and then gets a million roses the day after?”

“There are a few things in that sentence that I can take offense at but I honestly have no idea where to start.” Bitty shook his head.

“I never realized that Zimmerman was so close.” Lardo said as she leaned forward to smell the roses.

“Close?” Bitty echoed.

“Yeah,” Lardo said, looking at Bitty like he was speaking another language, “Providence Falconers. The flowers came from a shop in Providence. He’s like…less than an hour away if you speed on the highway.”

“Which I do not do!” Bitty gasped, shocked that Lardo thought he’d be than reckless after all these years as friends.

“Ok,” Lardo held her hands up in defense, “a little over an hour away if you drive like a law-abiding citizen.”

“Better,” Bitty nodded, “but what does it matter?”

“I’m just sayin’, Zimmerman is close. Close enough to…”

“Nope!” Bitty insisted, making sure the last ‘p’ popped with authority.

Lardo frowned, “I know you haven’t really been interested in anyone since…”

Bitty let his eyes fall to the ground as he pulled out a new shirt to change into.

Lardo continued, “But you said yourself that you went on a date the other night so…”

“My date the other night was terrible,” Bitty cringed, “and there’s a pretty big difference in going on a date with a five foot nine advertising agent than a ten-foot-tall hockey player who looks like he could bench press my entire family.”

Lardo frowned again but Bitty stopped her before she could speak.

“I know it’s been a few years and I know I can’t be scared of every man that towers over me, and we all know that Jack Zimmerman is one fine specimen of a man, but I’m not going to put myself out there like that. Especially not when he’s going through this big thing, I don’t want to be _that_ kind of guy who takes a simple act of kindness and makes it into something it isn’t.”

“OK, I’ll drop it. But…you’re just not going to say anything?” Lardo asked.

Bitty frowned. It wasn’t like him to not respond to something like this, especially given that it was as extravagant as it was. But still, he didn’t want to make any assumptions and even if his assumption was correct, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to even entertain the idea of a relationship with anyone at the moment.

Bitty huffed, “I’ll bake him something. I’ll bake him something and find out where to send it, maybe the rink? And I’ll include a nice note saying thank you. Does that sound acceptable to you, Miss Duan?”

Lardo laughed, “Yes, I think I can make peace with that. What are you going to make him?”

Bitty chewed on his bottom lip. There were exactly two things he knew about Jack Zimmerman and that was that Jack Zimmerman was Canadian and a hockey player. Canadian’s liked maple syrup. Hockey players generally preferred to eat healthy.

Bitty wanted Jack to enjoy what he sent so that put the idea of a full-on pie out of the window. But maybe, just maybe, Mr. Zimmerman could cheat for one day with a mini pie.

Bitty stood and planted his hands on his hips, “I’ll make him a few apple and maple mini pies with whole wheat crust, it might not be as yummy as a regular crust but I don’t think it should disrupt his diet too much.”

“And how will you figure out where to send these pies?” Lardo asked.

Bitty leaned against the counter, “I guess I can call the arena and figure out who their PR person is and see if I can’t figure out where the best place to send them would be?”

Lardo nodded, seemingly impressed, “Sounds like a plan, baker man.”

Bitty rolled his eyes and shooed her out of his dressing room. It was Friday, he had the entire weekend free, and he had a date with his kitchen to make a batch of mini pies for a certain overly generous hockey player.

 

-

 

Jack pointedly avoided the TV the following morning, too terrified to turn it on and see if people were talking about him. Instead, Jack changed quickly and made his way to the arena to use the gym. He had the rest of the weekend free but still, the gym in his building paled in comparison to the top of the line NHL gym in the arena Jack was more than happy about using the free weekend to have it to himself.

It wasn’t until after his post work out shower than Jack realized he had a missed call from Carol along with a short voicemail. Short voicemails were the worst, they meant that something happened but Carol was unwilling to elaborate until she spoke to Jack personally.

Jack refused to look at his phone again until he got back home, if something was about to happen he wanted to be in the safe confines of his apartment rather than the Falconers locker room.

When Jack closed and locked his door behind him he hesitantly pulled his phone out of his pocket and called Carol back.

Carol answered on the first ring, “Jack! I’ve been waiting for your call.”

Jack sighed, “What happened? Was it Eric Bittle? Did he say something on his show?”

“What?” Carol asked, obviously confused, “No…he didn’t…I’m not calling about that.”

“Oh.” Jack said, letting out a relieved breath of air.

“Well, wait, I actually kind of am,” Jack inhaled a sharp breath and Carol rushed to clarify, “No! It’s not bad, I promise! Eric got your flowers and I got a message a few hours ago from him, he wanted to know what the best place to send you something in return would be.”

Jack’s brain exploded, “He wants….to send me….something?”

Carol laughed softly on the other end of the line, “Yes, I didn’t want to give out any of your information without your consent so I was waiting to hear from you to see if you wanted me to tell him to send it to the arena or maybe my office.”

“I…uh, I don’t…” Jack huffed, “I just got back from the gym, can I give you an answer later after I get settled?”

“Sure, Jack,” Carol said, and Jack could hear the smile in her voice, “no rush. Just text me with what you decide.”

Jack nodded to himself and hung up the phone.

Jack held his phone in his hand and stared at it like it was going to come to life. This was an…unexpected development. Jack never thought he would hear anything from Eric except for maybe a thank you note or something impersonal, but now Eric wanted to send something directly to him?

Jack took a deep breath and pulled up his text thread with Carol and typed out his answer to her quickly before he threw his phone on the couch and all but ran away from it.

 

-

 

Bitty was up to his elbows in pie filling when his phone rang, he looked down at his sticky hands and cringed. They weren’t going anywhere near his phone.

“Siri,” Bitty yelled out into his apartment, “answer the call.”

Bitty’s music stopped playing through his Bluetooth sound system and was replaced by the unfamiliar voice of a woman, “Yes, hello. Am I speaking with Eric Bittle?”

“Yes ma’am,” Bitty replied, “may I ask who I’m speaking with?”

“So polite!” The woman laughed, “This is Carol Granger, PR for Jack Zimmerman.”

“Oh, goodness, hello!” Bitty laughed, wiping away the stray bit of filling he’d inadvertently flung at his cabinet in surprise, “you’ll have to excuse me, I’m up to my elbows in baked goods right now!”

“It’s not a problem, I won’t keep you long.” Carol said, “I spoke to Mr. Zimmerman and he let me know it was OK for you to send whatever you wanted to his home address.”

His home? That was…unexpected.

“Oh, wow,” Bitty said, half dazed, “let me just grab a pen I guess.”

Bitty pulled his hands out of the bowl and looked around for something to wipe them on. He settled on grabbing a fistful of paper towels and cleaned his hands as best as he could while he searched for a stray pen. Why was it always so damn hard to find a pen when you needed one?

Bitty finally find a half dead Sharpie in the back of his junk drawer, “OK, ready.”

Carol read out Jack’s address and Bitty scribbled it down. They exchanged pleasantries before hanging up and Bitty’s next call was to a carrier service who would pick up his batch of mini-pies the following morning and have them delivered to Jack by the same afternoon.

 

-

 

Jack spent the following day absorbed in a book about the fall of the Ottoman Empire. It was the easiest way to keep his mind from wandering to odd places and to keep himself from becoming a ball of nerves.

Carol had called him back early yesterday evening to tell him that she’d spoken to Bittle and given him Jack’s address and that was the last he’d heard from her. Jack knew he’d spend the next couple days, or weeks, anxiously awaiting his package from Bittle while also trying to pretend like the wait and uncertainty wasn’t driving him insane.

Which is why Jack was more than a little surprised to be stirred from his reading by a gentle knock on his door. Jack looked up from his book for a moment before flipping his book over and sitting it face down on the arm of the couch. He tried to run through his head and figure out if he was forgetting any commitments or if any of the guys on the team had told Jack they were going to stop by but he came up empty.

Jack slowly opened the door and was shocked to find a delivery man standing in front of him with a clipboard.

“Sign here,” The man said, thrusting the board at Jack while not paying attention to him.

Jack hastily scrawled his name on in the space indicated and picked up the package off the ground, closing the door behind him as the delivery man turned away and headed back towards the elevator.

Jack eyed the box as he moved it to his kitchen table, taking in the elegantly written label that spelled out his name and address. Jack’s stomach clenched, there was no way this was from Bittle. How could it have possibly made it to him this quickly?

Then Jack noticed the return label.

Boston, MA.

Eric Bittle was in Boston. A little over an hour away.

That was…unexpected.

Jack gently ran his fingers under the tape along the edge of the shoe box sized package and was immediately met with one of the best smells he’d ever experienced in his life. It smelled like maple and apples and brought him back to summers running along the apple orchard with Maman and climbing in the trees to harvest the fruit for the next morning’s breakfast.

There was a folded piece of paper on the top of what looked like five miniature sized pies. 

Jack turned his attention to the note, sitting down as he unfolded it and began to read.

 

**_Jack,_ **

**_Thank you so much for the flowers, it’s honestly the nicest thing I think anyone has ever done for me in a long, long time. I really needed them that day too! It meant a lot._ **

**_It pales in comparison but I’ve sent you a few maple-apple mini pies (made with whole wheat crust and less sugar than I normally use because I’m sure you’re on a strict diet) and all I ask is that you eat one now while it’s still somewhat fresh and you can freeze the other ones for later. I’ll include the reheating instructions on another note for you :)_ **

**_I hope they bring you as much joy as your flowers brought me._ **

**_Sincerely,_ **

**_Eric Bittle_ **

 

Jack stared in disbelief at Eric’s note. None of it seemed real.

When Jack was able to tear his eyes away from the paper he decided he would honor Eric’s wish to try one of his pies right away, even if it was flirting with a dangerous line of ignoring his dietary needs. He unwrapped the first pie and was pleased to find how small it really was, it barely covered half of his hand. Then again, Jack knew his hands were gigantic so it wasn’t really a great ruler to measure by.

Jack took one bite of the small pie and was instantly taken to some sort of heavenly plane. He let out a low, almost filthy, moan as he took another bite.

He had no idea food could be this good.

It took every ounce of self-control Jack had to not devour the rest of the mini pies. Instead, he obediently packaged them back up and stuck them in his freezer with a plan to eat them slowly over the next two weeks.  

Jack looked down at his phone on the table after he closed the freezer and hesitantly held it up before dialing Carol. Again, she answered after the first ring.

Jack spoke before she could, “Carol, is it possible for you to give me Bittle’s number?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternate chapter title: "that was...unexpected"


	4. God damn, god damn, god damn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> casually drops a chapter after 8 months

 

 

 

 

Four

God damn, god damn, god damn 

Jack went to sleep that night, with a stomach full of mini-pies (OK, he ate two instead of just one, but no one is going to tell) and armed with the phone number of one Eric Bittle, television host and extraordinary baker. It was the most peaceful night’s sleep that Jack could recall having for the last few weeks.

Which meant, of course, that something was about to happen.

Jack was awoken in the middle of the night by the ringing of his phone. He rolled over with a groan and checked the alarm clock by his bed, it was just after 4am. Jack rolled over and found his phone that was buried in a mountain of blankets and squinted at the bright screen as it came to life and burned away his corneas.

The call was from Kent.

Jack briefly calculated the time zone difference and realized that it was just after 1am for Kent. Kent never called, and if he did call and it was this late, or early, then it was always because he was drunk. And a drunk Kent was one of two things: horny or upset.

Jack hesitated as his finger hovered over the green answer button. On one hand, he was exhausted and was not in the mood to fight off Kent’s futile attempts at phone sex. On the other hand, if Kent was drunk and upset…Jack knew he couldn’t not answer the phone.

Jack answered the phone and let the silence hang in the air. It was close to a minute before Kent spoke.

“Zimms?” Kent asked, his voice was barely more than a whisper but Jack could immediate tell that Kent had been crying.

“I’m here, Kenny.” Jack said softly, his voice raspy with sleep, “What’s up?”

“What’s up?” Kent hissed, “What the fuck isn’t up?”

Jack sighed and rubbed the last remaining bit off sleep out of his eyes, he knew he wasn’t going to get much more rest after this.

“You’ve got to talk to me, Kenny.” Jack said, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

There was a loud thump on the other end of the lie, followed by silence, and then what sounded like breaking glass. Jack sighed again.

“Fuck,” Kent hissed, “fucking broke another one.”

“Kenny.” Jack said, his voice firm.

“Jack,” Kent breathed, “I’m…sad.”

Jack waited for a moment to see if Kent would elaborate.

“And I’m pissed off that I’m sad. I’m pissed off that I’m sad and that it’s all that I feel. I want to be mad at him, I want to want to beat the shit out of him or want to scream at him and tell him how much I hate him. But I can’t. Because all I can feel is sad.”

“I know, Kenny.” Jack frowned, this was the third time they’d had this conversation, "But you know you don't actually want to beat the shit out of him." 

"I know." 

Kent was having a harder time than he was letting on with this whole thing. Jack understood, more than Kent probably knew. The level of betrayal, of Kent being outed by a vindictive ex, was sickening.

“And the fact that you were dragged into it,” Kent choked out a sob, “I’m so, so sorry Jack. I only told him things about us because I trusted him. Because…because I loved him. And I thought he loved me.”

“Kenny,” Jack said softly, “I don’t blame you. None of this is your fault.”

“It is my fault, Zimms.” Kent gasped in between sobs, “It’s my fault like everything is always my fault.”

“Kenny, listen to me-“

Kent cut Jack off, “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you. I know it’s late as fuck there. Go back to sleep.”

Jack opened his mouth to protest but the line went dead. He sighed and dropped his phone into the space next to him and ran a hand through his hair before picking up his phone and trying to call Kent back.

The call went directly to voicemail. Kent turned his phone off.

Jack let out a low growl before pulling up his contacts and scrolling through them until he found one of Kent’s teammates, Josh Campbell.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” Jack said awkwardly, “it’s Jack Zimmerman.”

“Oh, uh, hey?” Josh said, obviously confused.

“Sorry to call you so late but I just got a call from Kent, he didn’t sound like he was doing that great and he hung up on me. I tried to call him back but he turned off his phone. I’m…I’m worried about him and you were the only person I could think to call since you’re the only person who’s number I have besides Kenny.”

“Shit,” Josh sighed, “thanks for calling me. I’ll head over to his apartment now, I’m only a few minutes away. I’ll send you a text once I know everything is good.”

“Thank you.” Jack said, relief rushing through his body like a tidal wave.

“No problem, I’ll take care of him.”

The line went dead after that and Jack tossed his phone back onto the bed. All he could do now was wait.

 

-

 

Kent: I can’t believe you sicked Soups on me

Kent: He’s here and he won’t leave

Kent: Asshole

Kent: Thank you

Kent: Sorry

Kent: I love you

Kent: Not like that

Kent: But still. Thanks.

 

-

 

Jack’s body automatically woke him a few hours later. He gave the clock a quick glance and decided against calling Kent, he was still three hours behind and Jack didn’t want to risk waking him if he was asleep. He’d call him later in the afternoon, thought Jack would be surprised if Kent actually answered his phone.

Jack went through his usual motions: run, shower, breakfast, skate.

Something was different about today though. Jack went through his normal routine with no interruptions but there was something else on his mind. Namely, the fact that he had Eric Bittle programed into the contacts of his phone.

Jack had thought about how to go about calling Eric ever since he’d gotten Eric’s number from Carol. He didn’t know if he should call out of the blue, if he should have Carol call first to make sure it was OK, or if Jack should text him.

Jack hoped texting wasn’t the proper answer because he was absolutely tragic when it came to expressing himself via texts.

 

-

 

Bitty found himself up to his elbows in flour. The kitchen was a mess and his clothes were not faring much better. His apartment kitchen, while impressive, was not exactly set up for such a large task. Every available surface of the kitchen was covered in something. The counters were lined with baking trays that were filled with cooling cookies, the top of the fridge (which, _yes_ , Bitty did have to climb on top of a chair to reach) was cleared of its usual junk in favor of resting dough, both sinks were filled to the brim with dishes, and both ovens were in the process of making four pies each.

The icing bag slipped from Bitty’s hand as he stepped backwards and into a stray puddle of water from the overflowing sink. Bitty stumbled but kept his composure, latching onto the edge of the island behind him to center his own gravity.

“Lord,” Bitty mumbled as he wiped his flour covered sleeve across his brow.

He really should have commandeered the studio kitchen for this job.

At least the job was a useful distraction and helped keep Bitty’s mind from wandering to one Jack Zimmerman. Namely, when one Jack Zimmerman would call him.

Bitty was still confused. Why would Jack send him flowers? Why would Jack want to call him? Bitty _refused_ to subscribe to Lardo’s theory.

_“He thinks you’re sexy, he wants to date you,” Lardo sing-songed_

There had to be something else to all of this. Maybe Jack just really wanted to say thank you. Jack had already sent flowers, but he _was_ Canadian so maybe he needed to also say thank you over the phone?

That had to be it. Jack Zimmerman was just nice and Canadian. There was no thinking anyone was sexy. There was no wanting to date anyone. Just nice. And Canadian.

The over time went off, drawing Bitty out of his thoughts, and Bitty turned to the side-by-side ovens and opened them both at the same time. He pulled the eight pies out of the ovens and sat them on cooling racks on the other side of the kitchen.

Bitty turned his attention back to the cookies after leaving the pies to cool. He took the piping bag and led it along the cookie, piping out a gold silhouette before filling it in with white frosting. Bitty quickly made his way through the rest of the cookies before triumphantly sitting the frosting bags to the side.

Bitty smiled at the cookies that were baked into the shape of angel wings.

“Good work if I do say so myself,” Bitty smiled, “they’re going to love them.”

The next task, arguably more arduous than actually baking the cookies, was finding enough pieces of Tupperware to transport them in. Well, it wasn’t that he didn’t have enough Tupperware, it was that Bitty’s Tupperware cabinet with a disaster zone that he should be publicly stoned for.

Bitty knew that if he was ever going to have a public scandal it wouldn’t be anything scandalous, it would be someone seeing the state of his Tupperware cabinet and running him out of the baking world all together. No self respecting baker should have the kind of Tupperware cabnet that Bitty had. 

Was Martha's Tupperware cabinet a level five disaster zone? She'd rather go back to prison! Was Giada's Tupperware cabinet ground zero of an angry disorganized bomb? She wouldn't be caught dead! Did Rachel Ray let her Tupperware cabinet devolve into the nightmare world from the classic Disney Channel Original Movie Don't Look Under The Bed? Never in a million years!

No self-respecting baker should have a Tupperware cabinet as disastrous as Bitty’s.

Twenty minutes later, Bitty had enough matching tops and bottoms (and yes, he did giggle to himself) to transport all baked goods.

Bitty was so distracted by his Tupperware graveyard that he barely registered the phone ringing.

Which _again_ , said so much about how disastrous his Tupperware care was.

The old timey grandma phone ringer as Lardo called it rang out from across the kitchen. Bitty moved as quickly as he could, using his feet to push stray lids out of the way, and plucked his phone off the counter. He glanced at the caller id and frowned when it displayed a number he didn’t recognize.

Bitty answered it anyway, he answered all numbers he didn’t know because he knew too many people who changed their number constantly so there was no telling who was actually calling him half the time.

“Hello?” Bitty answered, cradling the phone against his shoulder as he tried to clear off enough counter space to start cleaning dishes.

“Um, yes,” the voice on the other end of the line said, it was soft and hesitant, “Hi.”

“Hi?” Bitty repeated skeptically.

“Oh!” The voice gasped, “I’m sorry, this is Eric Bittle, correct?”

“Correct.” Bitty said, “May I ask who’s calling?”

The line suddenly went quite but Bitty could hear faint whispering on the other side of the speaker. Bitty pressed his ear closer to the phone, ignoring his hands that were now covered in suds. It still sounded like there was only one person on the line, one person who was currently whispering to himself in a language that Bitty couldn’t identify.

Bitty went back to washing his dishes while he listened to the voice whisper some more.

Just as Bitty was about to hang up the phone and write off the call as some odd prank, the voice came back to the line, “Yes. I’m sorry. This is Jack. Jack Zimmerman.”

Bitty’s eyes went wide. He dropped the cast iron skillet that was in his hands back into the sink, causing a tidal wave of bubbles and various chunks of left-over fruits to cascade across the kitchen counter and onto the floor.

“Holy mother of god!" Bitty hissed.

“I’m sorry?” Jack replied, “Did I call you at a bad time?”

“Oh hell!” Bitty gasped, ripping the phone away from his face and breathing through his internal freak out as he sat the phone on one of the only dry parts of the counter.

Somehow over the last few minute Bitty’s kitchen had transformed from a Tupperware graveyard to a _swampy_ Tupperware graveyard, and he hadn’t even realized that the call he received was the call he’d been stressing about all day.

“Hello?” Jack’s voice came from the speaker, “Eric? Are you still there?”

Bitty slipped through the suds on the floor as he picked his phone back up, “Bitty! Please, call me Bitty. Everyone else does.”

“Bitty.” Jack said, as if he was testing out the name on his tongue, “OK. Hello, Bitty.”

Hearing his name in Jack Zimmerman’s slight accent was enough to make Bitty melt into a puddle on the ground along with the rest of the kitchen.

“Hello, Mr. Zimmerman.” Bitty said, trying to sound professional and not breathless.

“Jack.” Jack said, “Please, call me Jack.”

“OK.”

“So…” Jack said, “Did I call you at a bad time? You sound…stressed.”

“Oh!” Bitty laughed, not manically at all, “No. It’s fine, I’m just up to my elbows in baked goods and up to my knees in Tupperware.”

“Tupperware?” Jack repeated.

“Yes!” Bitty let out an exasperated breath, “Now, I know up to my knees doesn’t sound like a lot, but when you’re as short as I am your knees are about half of your body so it’s a little overwhelming.”

Jack laughed, the sound was smooth as velvet, “Maybe I should call you back later.”

Bitty looked at the state of his kitchen. His counter was still a mess, there was about an inch of water along the floor of his kitchen that was probably ruining his beautiful hardwood floors every second he waited to clean it up, and a bright red plastic lid floated past Bitty’s foot and out into his breakfast nook.

“No, it’s totally fine.” Bitty said, grabbing a rag from the handle of the oven, “I’m a great multi-tasker. Talk your heart out, Jack.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, i finally kicked writers block's ass. all it took was a new laptop and a bunch of self guilt! i'm back and there will be regular updates! all the comments that this continued to get made my heart happy so i really appreciate that!
> 
> also, is now the part where it tell you that there's going to be a story in this universe about kent finding love? yes? ok. just throwing that out there. campbell's soup, it's mmm mmm good.


	5. A little sweat ain’t never hurt nobody

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jack is an anxious mess but no other warnings haha

 

Five

A little sweat ain’t never hurt nobody 

 

Jack nervously drummed his fingers on the railing of his balcony as he listened to Eric, no, Bitty, fumble around his kitchen. Jack was mortified, to say the least. He’d hyped himself up all day to call Bitty, and of course the exact moment he calls happens to be when Bitty is busy and apparently in the middle of some kind of storm of Tupperware and discarded fruit, whatever that meant.

Somewhere between the eight and tenth mumbled curse, Jack spoke, “It’s really no trouble if you would like me to call you back.”

A few moments of silence, then Bitty spoke again, “Nope! All good, just had to remember where I threw the mop bucket. Apparently, I decided it’s place was under the sink in my bathroom. Why? I’ll never know.”

“I don’t even think I have a mop bucket.” Jack laughed softly.

Bitty gasped, “Jack Zimmermann, how on earth do you clean your house?”

Jack watched a flock of birds fly by before answering, “You’d have to ask my cleaning lady. She comes by once a week when I’m not on the road.”

“Ah,” Bitty hummed, “I tried that once, but it didn’t feel right making someone else clean my house.”

Jack felt his stomach lurch, “I don’t…I…I don’t make her, it’s just easier because I’m hardly ever home to do it myself.”

“Oh, no!” Bitty rushed out, “I wasn’t judging you!”

Jack swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to pull off a smile, happy he was alone because he figured he looked insane at the moment, “You weren’t?”

Bitty laughed, “Heavens no! I was just speaking from personal experience. The first time I told my mama that I had someone else cleaning my house she threatened to fly down from Georgia and make sure I found whatever good sense I’d lost along the way.”

Jack wasn’t sure if he’d understood half of that, but his awkward smile was slowly turning into a more natural one, “Did that work?”

Jack could almost hear Bitty roll his eyes, “No. But then she went for the big guns.”

“Big guns?” Jack asked, surprised by the easy flow of their conversation.

“She threatened to call MooMaw on me.” Bitty said seriously, like any part of that sentence made any sense.

“Moo…Maw?” Jack repeated curiously.

“Yup,” Bitty said, popping the p at the end, “Mama said she was gonna pack up MooMaw and her good cast iron and send her down to me until I stopped forcing women to clean my apartment for me. And MooMaw means business, I once saw her take out a rattlesnake with nothing but her cast iron and a plastic spoon.”

Jack laughed, “I don’t think I understood half of that, but it sounds exciting. I think?”

“If exciting is another word for terrifying where you’re from, Jack.” Bitty said with a slight shudder, “No boy should have to see his grandmother bait a deadly snake into striking at her, just so she can hit it out of the air with her thirty-pound cast iron skillet and knock it’s brains out.”

“Georgia sounds…different than Montreal.” Jack said.

“Georgia is its own realm of crazy, outmatched only by Florida. Lord, Florida is like another planet.”

“I’ve never seen much of either, outside of traveling for games.”

Bitty laughed, and Jack smiled at how light and effortless it sounded, “You’re not missing much.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for my next vacation.” Jack said, opening the sliding glass door and stepping back into his apartment.

Jack wasn’t, no matter how many times someone asked, trying to find his mop bucket while he listened to Bitty speak on the other end of the phone.

Bitty was quiet for a second, only the sounds of pots and pans clattering, before he spoke again, “I had to admit, I was surprised when I heard you wanted to call me. The only time anyone ever reaches out for my number is when they’re mad about something I’ve said.”

“Really?” Jack was dumbfounded, “But you’re so sweet. How could anyone ever be mad at you?”

Jack felt his face heat up the second the words left his mouth.

“I…that’s…wow…” Bitty said, sounding almost breathless, “That’s very nice of you.”

“I just mean,” Jack struggled to come up with some kind of clarification to make himself sound less embarrassing, “I mean, you’re very nice. You don’t seem like you’d make people mad.”

Bitty was quiet, “You’d be surprised.”

“Well, I’m not mad at you,” Jack said with a small laugh, in absence of anything else to say, “I think you’re one of the only people who have defended me. That I’ve seen anyway, I haven’t been paying attention to much outside of the games.”

“The Stanley Cup!” Bitty said, surprisingly.

“Yeah,” Jack smiled, “you follow hockey?”

Bitty giggled, “I’ve been following the Cup at least, I’ve got to stay up to date on things that are going on. I started watching right after the Aces were knocked out of the running.”

Jack sucked in a sharp breath, he thought back to Kent’s phone call and frowned, “That was hard for everyone involved.”

“You get to lay low after the season is over, right?” Bitty asked, “Or do they throw y’all right back into the gym?”

Jack smiled, glad for the obvious subject change, “We get to relax and recover for a month or so before we go back to low intensity training. Mostly just rebuilding muscle and getting our bodies back into working order, the real heavy training doesn’t start until we get closer to the beginning of the season.”

Bitty whistled, “I don’t know how you do it. I used to be in figure skating when I was younger, and it was always a struggle to get myself going for competition season, especially when I bake as much as I do.”

Thar reminded Jack, “The pies!”

“I'm glad you got them.” Jack could almost hear Bitty’s smile on the other end of the phone.

“I did.” Jack said, “They were delicious. I also lied to our team nutritionist about them.”

“I made them small!” Bitty laughed.

Bitty’s laugh was magnificent, Jack thought. He thought he could listen to it all day.

“Which is good because I don’t think I would have been able to stop myself from eating an entire pie.”

“Lord,” Bitty sighed, “I don’t need a professional nutritionist on my tail, especially not with how much butter I use.”

It was Jack’s turn to laugh this time.

“What were you baking?” Jack asked.

“I’ve got a charity event to go to this weekend and they asked me to bake a few things for it.”

Jack smiled, “That sounds exciting.”

Bitty hummed, “Of course, a few things turned into 200 cookies and ten pies, so…”

Jack’s jaw fell open, “Where do you even make all that?”

“My apartment,” Bitty said, “Sometimes I use the kitchen at the studio, but I underestimated how much I’d actually end of making which is why my apartment turned into a scene from Matilda.”

Jack had no idea what Matilda was.

“What’s the charity?” Jack asked.

Bitty was quiet for a second, “A local domestic violence shelter I’ve worked with for the last few years. Making enough pies to feed a small army is a lot better than the year they auctioned me off as a date.”

Jack swallowed the lump in his throat, “A date?”

Bitty laughed, “I spent the whole week leading up to it fretting about what kind of guy was going to bid on me, or if anyone even was, and then it turned out that I caused a bidding war between three grandmas who wanted to spend an evening with me just so they could steal my recipes.”

“Who won?” Jack asked.

“Enid Martin, grandmother of four.” Bitty said, as if he was announcing someone in a royal court, “Apparently I’m worth ten thousand dollars.”

“I think you’re worth more than that.” Jack said, out loud, because he was a walking tragedy.

The line grew quiet for long enough for Jack to wonder if Bitty had hung up, just as he pulled the phone back to check the connection, Bitty spoke and sounded a bit breathless.

“That might be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

“I’m sorry…” Jack stammered.

“That’s nothing to be sorry about.” Bitty said, “If I’d have known you were this nice and sent flowers to people I would have dragged the general population in your honor a lot longer ago.”

Jack felt his palms begin to sweat, “I…it’s not just because of that. I mean, I sent you flowers to say thank you because I think that’s what people do, right?”

“I guess?” Bitty said, “You’re the first person to ever send me flowers.”

“Oh.” Jack said softly.  

“Well, they were beautiful flowers. I’m looking at them right now.”

Bitty had Jack’s flowers in his apartment?

“Do you ever come to Providence?” Jack asked out of the blue.

Bitty seemed surprised by the question, “Most everyone I know either lives in Boston or Georgia, I don’t really get out much unless the show sends me somewhere on an assignment.”

“Oh.” Jack said, a little defeated.

“I’ve always wanted to visit though.”

“Really?” Jack felt himself perk up again.

“I usually obsessively research places where I don’t know anyone first though,” Bitty laughed, “I’m a very dedicated traveler, I don’t like to miss out on anything.”

“You know me?” Jack offered, “I mean, not really, but, kind of.”

“Are you offering to be my tour guide, Jack Zimmermann?” Bitty almost sounded like he was excited at the thought of it, which Jack didn't know how to process.

“Yes!” Jack said, though maybe a little too quickly, “I mean, yes. If you would like.”

“Seeing Providence with a Providence Falconer, I don’t think I could get a better tour guide than that.” Bitty laughed, “You’re probably too busy to give me a tour though.”

Jack shook his head, “The Cup is almost over.”

Which was true, they only had one final game left. If they won, then they’d win the Cup all together. Jack couldn’t think of a better celebration than taking Bitty sightseeing across the city that he’d grown to love over the last few years.

“When is the final game?” Bitty asked, “I’ve lost track of my entire schedule lately.”

“Tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow night?” Bity gasped, “Why are you wasting time on the phone with me and not out practicing?”

Jack let out a deep laugh, “There’s not much more we can do besides win.”

“Your last game is tomorrow,” Bitty said thoughtfully, “and our show goes on break for two weeks after next Friday. If you’re really serious then I’d love to take you up on that offer.”

Jack’s smile probably looked crazy, “I’m very serious.”

“Alright then,” Bitty said, “Should I have your people call my people to set up a time?”

“Uh…”

Bitty laughed again, “I’m totally kidding, I don’t have people. Well, I have an assistant but he’s not the ‘people’ kind of assistant.”

“You can call me.” Jack said, “If we win then I’ll be busy with press for a few days, and if we lose then I might not want to talk to anyone for a few days.”

Jack figured he’d throw that out there just in case. The last time they’d lost the last game of the Cup he didn’t talk to anyone but his parents for a week.

“I’ll give you a few days either way then,” Bitty said, “but I really don’t think you’re going to lose.”

“I’m glad you have faith in the team.” Jack said.

“Not faith, just pie.” Bitty hummed, “If you win, I’ll bring a few pies with me. The big kind.”

Jack’s mouth was already watering, “I guess we better win then.”

Bitty laughed again, “I’ve got to get these things loaded into my car, but it was really nice talking to you. I’m really glad you reached out, Jack.”

“I am too, Bitty.” Jack said, “I hope you have a good time at your event.”

“I hope you win the Stanley Cup.”

“Goodbye, Bitty.”

“Goodbye, Jack.”

Jack hung up the phone and didn’t stop smiling until he fell asleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
